


Happy Go Lucky

by Feed_The_Pigeons



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Dean Winchester, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2019-11-07 04:50:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17953916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feed_The_Pigeons/pseuds/Feed_The_Pigeons
Summary: After finally defeating Michael, the Winchesters are slowly going back to normal life. Or, so they thought. While out investigating a case, Dean and Castiel end up at the Happy Go Lucky bar. Everything seems to be going smoothly until they get back to the bunker and Castiel reveals the bartender gave him his number. At first, Dean thinks it’s a joke, but once Cas voices his interest, his laughter quickly turns to anger and anger to serious jealousy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I just wanted to say thank you all so much for reading and I hope you enjoy. This is my first fan fiction so try not to judge me too harshly. I'm not the best writer, but I thought I would give it try!

 

 

The Happy Go Lucky bar was located down an empty road just south of Salina. It was a small place with peeling paint, cracked sidewalks, and 80’s tunes pouring out of static filled speakers. Overhead, an old neon open sign gave off an electric buzz as the Impala pulling into a parking spot.

Dean cut the engine and looked around, spying an old red truck with a rust eaten bumper and a couple of motorcycles across the lot. Other than that, the place was empty.

“No one’s here,” Dean said, almost questioningly.

“I assume the locals have heard about the killings,” Castiel answered, head tilted as he stared out the windshield. Dean glanced at him.

In the light of the neon, Dean could barely make out his face. He wore his usual expression of indifference, but today something was difference. It was in his eyes. They seemed almost… sad.

Shaking his head, Dean did his best to cracked a smile. “You ready?”

Instead of responding, Castiel simply nodded and climbed out of the Impala, heading towards the front door. Dean sighed and followed after. A bell dinged from above as they stepped inside.

Just like the parking lot, the bar was practically empty. Over to the right, next to the pool table, a group of guys wearing leather jackets were huddle together in a booth. They laughed loudly among themselves as the boys entered.

Behind the bar, a tall, thin man stood, idly wiping down the counter with a stained rag.

 _Must be the guy: David Barrett_ , Dean thought to himself, looking him up and down.

The sheriff had mentioned the man's name during their initially questioning. He was the only other staff member working the night the victim was killed. They approached him slowly.

“What can do for you, fellas?” the bartender asked. He was smiling a warm, welcoming sort of smile, but that quickly faded as Dean reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his badge.

“Agent Took, FBI,” he said, “and this is my partner, Agent Brandybuck.”

On cue, Castiel pulled out his own badge and presented it to the man. All the color seemed to drain from his face.

“O-oh, I see,” he managed to get out.

“We’re here to ask you a couple of questions about your co-worker, Miss. Diana Mathis.” Dean pulled out a stool and sat down. Castiel did the same.

For a moment, the man just stood there, blinking at them in the low light of the bar. It was obvious that he was uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot and shooting brief glances at the group of men in the corner.

Finally, he spoke in a low voice, “I don’t really know that much about what happened.”

“That’s fine. Just tell us what you _do_ know and we’ll be on our way,” Dean replied, cocking a smile. He could see Castiel watching him from the corner of his eye.

“Well,” he began, clearing his throat. “We had just closed for the night. Diana told me I could head on home while she finished cleaning and locked up. I told her that it was too much work and I didn’t feel right about leaving her here alone, but she insisted. Usually, there’s only two people on staff per night. We’re not that busy.”

Suddenly, Dean laughed.

“You don’t say?” He asked, eyes drawing their way across the empty room. He could practically feel Castiel scowling beside him. He shouldn’t have been laughing. A girl was murdered and strung up like a clothesline between the light poles out back. He really shouldn’t have been laughing.

“Y-yeah,” the man muttered stiffly. “I think it’s the location.”

Dean started to open his mouth again, but Castiel quickly cut him off before he could say anything else.

“What was she like? Did you enjoy working with her?”

“Diana’s great. She’s really quiet, but super sweet. Probably one of the most patient women I’ve every meet. Most people don’t take to her, but once you really get to know her…,” he trailed off. “I don’t know what we’re going to do without her.”

“It sounds like you were very fond of her. Where you two close?”

“Yeah, she was like a little sister to me,” the bartender said, eyes focused on the counter as he gave a sad smile.

“I’m so sorry for you loss,” Castiel said and Dean could tell he meant it.

Suddenly, he felt like an ass for laughing.

“Did you… um, do you know if there was anyone who would want to hurt her? Anyone she had a problem with? A friend? Boyfriend?” Dean asked, voice a lot more calm and level this time.

“No,” he said firmly, looking back and forth between them. “No, I can’t think of a single person who would want to hurt her. She’s was a really quiet girl, so she didn’t have many friends. Just a couple of kids she knew from high school.”

“Kids from high school, huh?” Dean shot a glance at Castiel. He nodded slowly.

“Yeah. A couple of girls who used to be on the basketball team. They’ve been friend for a long time. Almost ten or fifteen years now.”

“And you don’t think they could have anything to do with this?” Castiel asked.

“No,” he assured. “I don’t thinks so. They’re just your average, middle aged moms now. Married with a couple kids. Going to PTA meetings. Certainly don’t look like murderers.”

“What about Diana? Did she have any kids?” Dean tapped his fingers against the counter.

“No, she didn’t. Like I said, she was a loner. Never showed any interest in… well, anyone. No husband, no boyfriend. Nothing.”

“Right. Got it.” Dean nodded and pushed back his chair. The bartender wearily took a step back as he straightened his jacket. “Do you care if we take a look around back?”

“No,” he said, once again going quiet. “I don’t suppose I do.”

 

* * *

 

“That was very poor taste, Dean.”

The hunter glanced over his shoulder as Castiel muttered sourly under his breath. Those blue eyes burned into him as he shook his head.

“I didn’t mean nothing by it, Cas,” he snorted. “It was just a joke. I’m in a good mood.”

“A good mood does not excuse such behavior. That man is obviously in a lot of pain and your humor was quite insensitive.”

Dean couldn’t help himself as he let out a sigh.

He pushed open the back door and stepped out into the cold air. Behind the bar was another empty parking lot. A sign reading “Employee Parking Only” was posted on the back door.

“A woman was murdered, Dean. I know we’ve been having a our own issues lately, but that doesn’t give you the right to be inhumane.”

“I wasn’t trying to be _inhumane_ ,” Dean mocked.

“Imagine if you were in his position and you had just lost Sam or Jack or... ,” he paused for a long moment. “Or me. How would you feel? Would you still find it funny then?”

Shocked, Dean turned around to face the angel.

Castiel was walking with his hands settled deep in the pockets of his coat, shoulders tense and expression stern. His eyes flickered with a sort of annoyance that Dean couldn’t quite read.

Come to think of it, there were a lot of things about Cas that he couldn’t read. Lately, he had been different. More somber and cold. He had been quiet- very quiet- and Dean had noticed the angel staring at him for long periods of time.

Normally, he wouldn’t think too much of it. Castiel had always had a staring problem. But this was different. Something was… off.

Dean looked at him for a long moment before finally turning away and running a hand through his hair.

“Let’s just drop it, okay?”

Castiel let out a huff and followed him across the parking lot.

At the edge of the parking lot, where the concrete meet the grass, three light poles were placed all in a row. There was about twenty-five feet between each of them. A few scrapes of police tape hung loosely around their bases, fluttering in the wind.

Dean approached the first and quickly circled it.

“Can you imagine how awful…?” Castiel started, looking back and forth between the poles.

“Don’t you smell that? This place reeks of sulfur and.. What is that?” Dean asked, cut him off.

“I don’t know,” Castiel muttered. Dean glanced up at him. His eyes were cast across the parking lot, staring absently.

“Hey, Constantine, you gonna stand there all day or are you going to help me out?”

Castiel blinked at him a few times, “I-I’m sorry. I was just...”

“Being useless.” Dean chuckled.

“Thinking,” Cas responded sharply.

“Whatever.” Dean slowly sank to the ground, crouching beside the light pole and examining the base. Castiel’s weirdness was a talk for later. Right now, they had bigger fish to fry.

The police report had stated there were strange markings carved into the light poles, possibly demonic in nature. Looking at them now, Dean had no doubt.

“I ain’t no betting man,” he said humoredly. “But pair the sulfur with these markings and I’d say Miss. Mathis was prime picking for a good, ol’ fashioned sacrifice.”

“You act like that’s a good thing.”

He could hear the displeasure practically dripping from Castiel’s voice.

“Well, in a way, it is. It’s nice to get back to the sweet and simple, you know? No Lucifer. No Michael. No end of the world bullshit.” He rubbed his hand across the symbols. “Just a classic case of cultists.”

“Really, Dean?”

“Come on. It’s not that bad,” he added and heard Castiel suck in a sharp breath. Wrong answer. Quickly, he tried to do some damage control. “I just mean, it’s not like we’re dealing with archangels or the devil anymore. It’s kind of a relief to have something less doomsday-ish going on.”

For a moment, Castiel didn’t say anything. He just stood there with his arms crossed, staring at Dean with the same sour expression he had been wearing since they left the bunker. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Sometimes, I can’t-,” he sighed, shook his head, and started back towards the bar. “I’m going back inside.”

“Really, Cas?” Dean threw up his hands.

He was used to Castiel being stubborn and petty at times, but he felt this was a little ridiculous. After all that had happened- after finally getting rid of Michael, the asshole who had used his body as a playground for the last few months- didn’t he deserve the right to be a little pumped to get back to the grind? To get back to normal? Was that so much to ask?

Apparently, it was.

Castiel ignored him, crossing the parking lot towards the back door, and slamming it behind him. Dean stared at the door for a long moment before turning away.

“Son of a bitch,” he mumbled, shaking his head as he got to work.

 

* * *

 

Dean spent the next fifteen minutes crouched down by the light pole, snapping pictures of symbols and sending them to Sam. There were about twenty in total and had been roughly scratched in a line along the base of the pole.

It took Sam another ten minutes to finally answer him back and Dean occupied his time by circling the parking lot a few times, checking for any signs of the culprits. A temporary gate had been set up around the back parking lot and the crime scene, warning signs hanging on every side.

Dean had just bent down to examine a dried blood stain on the pavement when his phone chimed. Sam and Jack had taken to investigating similar cases in the area and when Dean checked his phone, he had received several pictures that matched his own.

Obviously connected, Sam had typed beneath a picture of an old barn door with identical markings.

Exactly as he thought. Serial Killings. Serial cultist killing. Just like the good old days. Dean stood up with a huff.

I’ll meet you in twenty minutes, he typed quickly and hit send. Stuffing his cell phone back in his pocket, he headed inside.

He mulled over this new development as he walked back towards the front. Three similar cases in the area. All the crime scenes had those strange markings near the body. Each victim was killed in an incredibly gruesome way. All were females in their late twenties or early thirties and all were regarded as loner.

Dean knew they’d have to dig deeper into what those symbols meant when they got back to the bunker. Maybe that would help them find a motive or at least figure out the-

Dean thoughts came to a sudden halt as he made it to the staff door that lead back into the bar. Just outside, he could hear someone talking. Someone whose voice he recognized.

 _W-what?_ Dean thought, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. _What is he doing?_

A wave of discomfort washed over him.

Peeking out from behind the staff door, he could see Castiel was once again sitting at the counter. The bikers who had occupied the corner booth were now gone and the bar was completely empty. The bartender once again had his rag in hand, cleaning out empty mugs and placing them on a dish tray. His attention, however, wasn’t on the dirty glasses.

Rather, he was staring at Castiel, glancing away every once in awhile as he laughed and smiled that bright warm smile. And Castiel was smiling right back.

Wait, no. He wasn’t smiling. He was _laughing_.

Castiel had his arms propped up on the counter, body leaned forward as he hung onto every word the man said, and Dean could have swore he saw him blush once or twice.

The hunter swallowed hard. How long had it been since he heard that sound? How long had it been since he’d seen him smile like that? A strange feeling washed over him, chest tightening as his stomach turned.

Before he could think better of it, he stormed out from behind the staff door, making his presence known. Both of the men jumped in surprise and Castiel jerked his head in Dean’s direction. His smile disappeared. His face fell back to it’s usual indifference.

“That’s should be all we need. Thank you, sir,” he managed to grit out, nodding towards the bartender.

Without another word, he made his way towards the front door. He could hear Castiel muttering something behind him, bar stool squeaking as he stood up, and the bartender said something in return.

The bell chimed over the door as they left.

As they climbed back in the Impala and Dean put the key in the ignition, he wanted to ask what that was all about. What were you talking about? Why were you laughing? A million questions rattled around in his mind. And yet, he stayed quiet.

Neither of them spoke for the rest of the ride, not even after they picked up Sam and Jack. They rode back to the bunker in utter silence.

 

* * *

 

When they got back to the bunker, Sam pulled Dean aside.

“Did anything happen while you two were out there?” he asked, shooting a glance towards Castiel as he followed Jack back towards the kitchen. The kid had been complaining about being hungry for the last hour. Dean sighed and shook his head.

“I don’t know, man. He’s been… weird lately,” Dean said, surprising himself with the amount of anger in his voice.

Sam seemed surprised too, eyebrows raised as he stared at his brother.

“Really? Is that all?” he asked. “You seem pretty pissed.”

“Okay, stop,” Dean said sternly. “I need you to stop, okay? I’m so sick of everyone being on my case.”

“Dean,” Sam laughed disbelievingly. “I’m not on your case. I was just curious. You two haven’t said a word since you picked us up.”

“Yeah, well, Cas didn’t do shit today.”

“What do you mean?”

Dean thought back to Castiel and the bartender, the image of the two of them so close together still burned into his mind. They had looked comfortable, cozy, like two good friend catching up after a long time apart. Two very, very good friends.

He grimaced and shook his head, glancing back up at Sam.

“It’s nothing,” he gritted out. “Drop it.”

Intending to leave the conversation there, Dean quickly walked out of the room and made his way towards the kitchen. Sam couldn’t continue his interrogation if Castiel was standing right there. They could talk about him if he was in the same room.

Although the logic seemed sound, Sam didn’t relent. He followed right at Dean’s heels.

“Dean-,” He tried and Dean shot him a glare.

“Let it go, Sam,” he hissed as he turned into the kitchen.

Jack was bend in front of the fridge, the sound of bottle and jars clattering together filling the room as he looked for a snack. Castiel was sitting at the kitchen table, back pressed flat against the wall, an amused smile on his lips as he watched the nephilim. He glanced up at the brother as they entered.

“What you looking for, kid?” Dean asked, trying his best to sound upbeat as he walked towards him.

“You know, I’m not sure,” he said, tilting his head to the side as he smiled. “I’m just hungry.”

“Yeah, me too,” Dean chuckled. He came up behind him and leaned over, looking inside. He could feel Sam’s eyes burning into his back as he hunkered over the fridge.

“Do we have any-”

“You know what, I’m sick of this,” Sam said suddenly. Jack quickly closed his mouth and step back away from the fridge.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “Did I do something-?”

“No. No, it’s not you. It’s _you_ ,” Sam assured pointing at Dean. He then shot a look at Castiel. “And you.”

“I don’t-,” Castiel said, blinking in confusion.

Sam ignored the angels protests. “Jack, can you give us a minute?”

The boy shot a look at Dean and then back at Sam, slowly putting the jar of pickles he had been holding back in the fridge. The confusion remained plastered on his face as he made his way out of the kitchen. Once he was gone, Sam cleared his throat.

“Guys, I think we need to talk.”

‘I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Castiel said absently. Despite his effort, his voice betrayed him.

“Yeah, you have no clue, right?” Dean snorted. “You never do.”

“See, this is what I’m talking about. I don’t know what happened with you two, but this pettiness needs to stop. It’s driving me crazy.” Sam took a seat across from Castiel, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, we just got rid of Michael. For good. We should be celebrating.”

“I was trying to.” Dean rolled his eyes and Castiel rolled his eyes right back. The oldest Winchester bulked at the imitation.

“You weren’t celebrating, Dean. You were being insensitive,” he said.

“Yeah, well, maybe you were being too sensitive.” Dean shot back.

“What did you say?” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I made a joke and laughed. That’s it. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Okay-” Sam started, but Castiel cut him off.

“What you fail to mention is that you made a joke while speaking to a man about his dead best friend. A situation that I personally don’t find very humorous.” Dean could feel the heat in Castiel’s glare, yes burning into him. Quickly, he turned to Sam and added, “I had to apologize to the man on his behalf.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly why you went back inside, isn’t it? To _apologize_.” Dean couldn’t help the bitterness that seeped in among his sarcasm.

“What are you trying to imply?” Castiel said coldly.

“I don’t know, Castiel.” The sound of that name felt foreign on his tongue and both the men sitting at the table perked up. Sam’s was watching them both tensely now and Cas visibly stiffened. How long had it been since he said that name? Now it was always Cas, never Castiel. Where was this coming from?

“All I’m saying is it’s not right that you spent so much time with your new best friend, ignoring the job we were supposed to be doing, and then you want to lecture me about being insensitive. Are you serious?” He continued.

“Dean, we had one conversation.”

“Yeah and you seemed pretty buddy-buddy with him before we left.”

 _Why did I say that?_ Dean asked himself. He could see the way Castiel flinched, surprised, feeling this to be a personal attack. And, in away, it was. A deep angry had settled in Dean’s belly, hot and churning. The feeling from before was back and, although he couldn’t place it, it was intense.

“Dean-,” Sam started.

“He was very polite,” Castiel said stiffly, eyes focused on the tabletop.

“Really?” Dean’s voice was bitter. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. While you were sitting there sharing pleasantries with your new best friend, I was actually investigating a murder.”

“That’s not fair.” Castiel shook his head. The anger was beginning to show on his face. His forehead creased.

“Dean, please.” Sam stood.

“No,” he said, staring at his brother. “This isn’t okay. While I was investigating, taking photos, trying to figure this damn thing out, he was sitting inside on his ass, making eyes at the bartender.”

Sam opened and closed his mouth, trying to come up with something to sooth his brother’s anger. Dean could tell from his expression that he though this whole thing was ridiculous. And, Dean certainly felt ridiculous.

Where had this anger come from? This sudden feeling? Why was he acting like such a-

“Seriously,” Dean turn back towards Castiel. The angel was sitting with his arms crossed, expression cold. “As if, it was going to go anywhere anyways. Did you really think he liked you? Was that it? Because from what I saw, I don’t think he was that interested.”

“Well, I say otherwise.”

Dean paused for a moment, taken aback.

 _What?_ His mind couldn’t compute. _What did he say?_

Before he could voice his confusion, Castiel reached into his pocket and drew out a crumbled bar napkin. Angrily, he tossed it down on the table. On the front, in smudged, blocky handwriting, was a phone number.

Dean could feel the sweat cropping up beneath his collar as he picked it up, holding it close to his face. From the corner of his eye, he could see Sam staring at him, eyes wide with surprise, trying to gauge his brother’s reaction.

He stared at it for a long moment. Anger, confusion, and some odd form of disgust swirled in his stomach, bubbling up beneath his skin. He felt sick.

 _What am I supposed to say? Is this a joke?_ He thought. His skin felt like it was on fire.

“W-what did you say to him?” He finally managed, choking on his words.

“I told him thank you,” Castiel responded coldly.

“And?”

“That’s all I said.”

Suddenly, Dean let out a sharp laugh.

“Uh, dude, why didn’t you give it back? I mean,” Dean said, glancing back and forth between the other two men at the table. Sam was standing stone still, mouth agape. Dean let out another laugh. “No need to… drag him along. You should have said you weren’t interested.

“But…” Castiel paused, mouth skewed up in anger. Dean felt his heart skip a beat.

 _N-no, he can’t be saying what I think he’s saying,_ Dean told himself. _There’s no way._

“Cas?”

“But… What if I am interested?”

Dean swallowed hard, insides twisting. The burning in his stomach was like an inferno. He knew what he was feeling, intense and undeniable now. At first he thought it was anger or even disgust, but now he knew what it was.

He was jealous. Painfully so. And looking at Castiel right now, he didn’t know what to say.

Slowly, he sat the number down and pushed it back across the table. Castiel’s eyes never left him, not even when he picked up the napkin and put it back in his pocket.

“Cas-,” Sam tried to say something, but before he could get another word out, the angel was gone.

Dean listened as he stormed off down the hall. He couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t comprehend what had just happened.

“Son of bitch,” he muttered, rubbing his hands across his face.

Sam quickly whipped around to face him, mouth slightly opened, expression completely disbelieving.

“See what you do,” he said and stormed off as well.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is finally done! I'm so sorry it took so long! I meant to have this up weeks ago, but with finals coming up in a few weeks I've been swamped with end of the semester assignments and papers. Hopefully the next chapter won't take so long. Enjoy!

Dean stood alone in the kitchen for what seemed like hours, trying his best to wrap his head around what had happened. Guilt and anger washed over him in waves. His stomach felt like it had been tied in a knot.

_ You stupid son of a bitch! I can’t believe you said that!  _ He mentally kicked himself for being so careless.  _ Why did you have to push so hard? Why couldn’t you let it go?  _

He just keep picturing Castiel’s face, stony and cold, staring back at him from across the table.

There was something scary about Castiel when he got angry. When he was truly mad, Cas became very quiet and his expression emotionless. 

It always sent a shiver down Dean’s back. 

The intensity of those bright blue eyes, the stiffness of his posture, the clenching of his teeth- seeing that brought a clarity to the situation. Those moment made Dean remember exactly who the man sitting across from him was.

This was Castiel: an angel of the lord. The once merciless, dangerous being who had dragged him out of hell. He was something ancient, something thing powerful, and the thought of such a thing sitting across from him at the kitchen table was almost laughable.

Sometimes Dean forgot about those things. When he looked at Castiel, he just saw his friend- his  _ best _ friend. But when he got that angry, Dean remembered.

It was really hard to make him that angry. Dean hadn’t seen him look like that in a long time. Just the thought of it made him feel sick. 

He had really screw up.

* * *

 

“Where’d he go?” Dean asked as he entered the war room. 

Sam was sitting at the map table, shoulders slouched, hand pressed to his temple as if he had a headache. He hardly glanced at Dean as he approached. 

“What?” 

Dean let out a sigh. 

“Cas,” he said, trying to keep the anger from his voice. The last thing they needed was more yelling. “I’m talking about Cas, Sam.”

Sam gave a short, harsh laugh and shot him a sideways glare. “Don’t you mean Castiel?” 

Dean quickly looked away. Hearing those words was like a knife through his chest. 

_ You deserve that.  _ He thought to himself, swallowing hard.  _ You said it first. You deserve it. _

“Sam,” he said quietly. “Now is not the time. I can’t do this-”

“Really, Dean?” Sam sputtered. Suddenly, he was on his feet. “Not the time? Did you not see the look on his face when he said that?”

Dean said nothing and shook his head, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. There was no point in arguing. Sam had every right to be angry. He had heard what Dean said to the angel. He had seen how hurt he was.

But he hadn’t meant to hurt him. Not in the way he did. He was just mad. He just wasn’t thinking clearly. He just-

Dean clenched his fist and bit the inside of his cheek. Just thinking about what he said made him angry all over again- angry at himself.

_ God, I’m such a dick. _

“I didn’t mean it,” Dean finally said after a long moment of silence. Sam rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I know, Dean. You didn’t mean it. You never do. But that doesn’t change the fact that you said it,” he replied heatedly.

Dean nodded. “Look, I get it. I know. I screwed up. I just wanna say I’m sorry.”

“Well, sometimes sorry doesn’t cut it, Dean!”

Those words echoed through the war room as silence fell between them. Dean stood there, mouth agape, eyes wide in surprise. 

_ What’s his problem?  _ He thought bitterly. _ Any other day, he’d be raising hell if I didn’t apologize. What’s wrong with him? _

Suddenly, a long sigh left Sam’s lips. Dean watched as he ran a hand through his hair, the anger slowly fading from his face.

“Cas is gone,” he finally said. 

Dean stiffened. He felt like he hand been punched. Something clenched in his gut. 

“Gone?” He asked, trying and failing to keep the nerves out of his voice. 

“Yeah,” Sam said quietly, shaking his head. “I came in as he was going up the stairs. I tried to stop him, but he just keep apologizing and said he’d be back later. I think you really messed him up, Dean.”

For a moment, the hunter didn’t know what to say. He swallowed hard, insides twisting. He felt like he was going to throw up.

Pulling out one of the chairs from the map table, Dean sat down. 

_ Cas is gone. He left. _ He thought hatefully to himself.  _ Because of me. Because I’m such an asshole.  _

There was a long stretch of silence between them as Dean tried to gather his thoughts. Finally, Sam spoke.

“Dean?” No response.

“Dean, look at me.” He tried again, this time louder. Dean slowly lifted his head.

He watched as Sam took a breath, nodding, almost like he was preparing himself for something. 

"Okay," he muttered as he sat back down. “Can I be honest with you about something?”

“Sure,” he said halfheartedly. “Sure, Sammy. Have at it.”

“Okay, I swore I’d never say anything about this. It’s not something I really wanted to be in the middle of, but I feel like now’s the time considering… everything that’s happened.”

_ With everything that's going on right now, do I really want to know?  _ Dean thought bitterly.

“Look, Dean.” Sam shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Cas really cares about you. Like really,  _ really _ cares about you.”  

_ What? What’s that supposed to mean?  _ _   
_

Despite how awful he felt, Dean managed to find the strength to laugh. “Way to state the obvious, Sammy. You think I don’t know that? We’re family. Family cares about each other.” 

“That’s not-” Sam started and then stopped, running a hand over his face. “No, Dean. That’s not what I meant. I think to Cas… you’re more than just family. He sees you differently. He doesn’t look at you the same way he looks at me or Jack or mom.”

“I don’t get what you’re trying to say.”

“Listen, when you were gone- when Michael took over- he was a wreck. I thought he was going to lose his mind or do something stupid and get himself killed.”

“He was worried. You were, too.”

“Yeah, we were both worried. I was worried, Jack was worried, mom was worried.” Sam placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He stared at him heatedly. “But not like he was. I don’t think Cas could function if something happened to you, Dean. He would have stopped at nothing to get you back. He  _ cares _ about you.”

“Sam, what are you getting at here?”

“Really? Do I really have to spell it out for you?”

Dean started to say something else. But then, suddenly, realization dawned on him. Clarity struck like lightning, setting every nerve in his body on fire.

For a moment, he couldn’t speak. His mind went blank, dully processing what his brother was saying. Sam’s words played like a broken record in his head, repeating again and again and again.  _ He cares about you. _

_ No,  _ Dean said to himself. A cold sweat broke out across his skin. His hands clenched around the edge of the map table.  _ No, no, no. He can’t be saying what I think he’s saying. There’s no way. He can’t… Cas can’t… _

“Sam, seriously. Come on, man,” he said, panic setting in. “You don’t think he’s-”

The sentence died on his lips. He couldn’t even say the words. His stomach churned. 

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying. I know what it looks like when someone’s in love, Dean. Call it personal experience, but I know. And when he looks at you, that’s what I see. His expression changes, the way he talks changes, how he acts changes: it’s a lot.”

Dean took a deep, raspy breath.

_ In love? What does he mean? He can’t serious think- _

He didn’t know what to say. If Sam hadn’t been sitting next to him, he probably would have bowed over and threw up right there. Something inside him clenched. His head throbbed. Emotions crashed over him like a tidal wave: anger, guilt, disgust, fear, panic, and…

His heart hammered against his chest. 

His hands were sweating. His throat was dry. All the words he wanted to say sloshed around in his head senselessly.

_ What am I supposed to do? What the hell am I supposed to do?  _

“Sam, I’m not good with this shit,” he said, almost pained. He didn’t even have the strength to meet his brother’s eyes. “I’m really out of my depth here.”

“I know. I know it’s a lot for you to handle right now, but… I just thought you might want to know. It would explain why he was so angry about the things you said.”

_ Shit! That makes sense! That makes so much sense! God, he must hate me! After everything I said to him, how could he not. I really screwed up. I really, really screwed up. Shit! _

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, swallowing hard.

“Okay, time out,” he choked out, still trying to wrap his head around the thought. “So, let’s say Cas does feel this way about me, what am I supposed to do? I can’t… Sam, I’m not into…”

Sam stared at him quietly. Something glinted in his eyes. Was that pity? Guilt? No. No, it was something different. Something else.

Was that… disbelief? 

Dean opened his mouth and tried to speak, mind whirling. His brain felt like mush. His skin felt like fire.

_ What the hell?  _ He tried to say.  _ I’m not gay! You know that! Don’t give me that look! How could you- _

Discomfort rushed through him.

“Why the hell are you looking at me like that?” He said stiffly. “Sam, you know for a fact-!”

“Well, sometimes I do wonder-”

“Sam!”

“What?” Sam shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “I- I’m just saying that in the past, you know, there have been a couple instances where I’ve… thought you could've been.”  

Dean couldn’t say anything. He just stared at his brother, mouth open, trying to understand what he was hearing. Seriously? Sam thought-

He shook his head. Something akin to anger bubbled inside him. He felt like he was about to explode. The embarrassment was consuming. He could feel himself blushing.

“Sam, you should no I don’t swing that way,” he muttered and looking away.

“Two words: Doctor Sexy. I never forgot about that, Dean. Never.”

“Y- yeah, but… that doesn’t mean anything! That’s a celebrity, a dude who plays in a TV show! Not a really person!”

Dean could tell Sam was fighting hard not to roll his eyes. For him, that was it. He felt too hot, too uncomfortable. He needed to move. He needed to get out of there.

He stood up quickly from the map table. The chair squealed as he knocked it back with his legs. He had to go. He couldn’t be there anymore. He couldn’t listen anymore. Panic was setting in.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. It’s okay, Dean. I’m sorry. I was just… joking. It’s okay. I believe you,” Sam said quickly, realizing his brother was on the verge of a mega crisis.

Dean’s heart was beating unbelievable fast. He felt like his ribs were about to break.

“It’s gonna be okay. Alright? It’s okay.” Sam’s words did nothing to sooth him.

“Son of bitch,” he muttered under his breath. He put a hand over his stomach. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Dean? Dean, are you alright? You gonna be okay?”

_ My best friend is in love with me. Cas is in love with me. What am I going to do? This is too much. I can’t deal with this shit. _

He shook his head. “I don’t know, man. I really don’t know.”

* * *

 

Castiel was gone for ten days and a half days. Dean counted right down to the hour. 

Ten and a half very long, very anxious, very self-reflective days. 

He spent most of his time in his room thinking and watching the time. Each tick of the clock was like a stab to his gut. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t eat. He felt sick and tired and not even beer or work or Sam’s reassurance could make him feel better. 

His brother tried his best to keep his spirits up.

“Dean, he’s probably just out clearing his head. I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” Sam would say. “You got to stop worrying.”

_ I can’t, Sam.  _ He wanted to respond.  _ I can’t stop worrying. Cas is gone and I don’t know when he’s coming back and if he does come back, I don’t know what the hell I’ll even say to him because now I know he’s in love with me. _

But he didn’t say any of that. Instead, he keep his feelings to himself.

As the days went on, he talked less. He laughed less. The stress of everything that had happened was tearing him apart.

“What the hell am I going to do?” He muttered to himself one night as he lay in bed, trying and failing to put together a cohesive thought of what he would say to Castiel when he saw him again.

He felt emotionally bankrupt. He didn’t have the strength to carry on a single conversation. He mainly just stayed in his room either doing nothing or doing shitty research on his laptop.

Anything else was too taxing.

Luckily, no one really bothered him. Sam knew he needed some space. He knew he was still in the processing phrase. He didn’t bother coming into his room or trying to coax him out.

Jack followed the same rule. Sam must have told him that something was up.

Dean only saw the boy twice during the ten day period: The first time, he just popped in to say hi and ask if Dean was okay. The second time, he had a question.

“Have you heard from Castiel yet?” he asked sheepishly on the seventh day as he passed by room 11.

Dean had been sitting at his laptop, trying and failing to decipher the crime scene symbols that had been pushed to wayside in light of everything that had happened.

The boy shifted uncomfortably from side to side as he waited for a response. The sadness in his expression was heartbreaking. It was obvious that he was worried.

“Sorry, Kiddo. Nothing yet.” He said to him after a long pause. 

“Oh, okay. Just let me know if you do.” Jack tried to smile. It quite didn’t reached his eyes.

 

* * *

 

It was around five- thirty on a Saturday morning when Castiel finally returned to the bunker. 

Dean and Sam had been sitting in the kitchen, talking quietly between bites of cereal and burned toast.

Dean was still in his pajamas and robe, frowning tiredly into his bowl. Sam had papers scattered out in front of him: new clips and old scrolls, books on witchcraft, satanism, and ancient symbols.

They were talking about where to go next with the serial murder case- Dean wasn’t really paying attention- when suddenly there was the sound of scraping metal coming from the war room. The bunker door slammed shut with a loud thud.

Immediately, Dean was rushing out of the kitchen, heart beating fast. Sam followed close behind him. He came to skidding stop, slippers sliding on the tile floor, just as Castiel stepped down from the stairs.  

In the low light of the war room, he looked tired. More tired than usual, that is.

His suit was wrinkled, tie askew and shirt untucked, and his face was haggard. He walked with his shoulders slumped and head bowed low. The expression on his face was unreadable.

Just looking at him was enough to put Dean in shock. The words Sam had said to him on the first day came back to him. 

_ He cares about you. _

Dean thought he was going to pass out. Everything was too real in that moment. Too now.

After spending so much time thinking about what he would say, it was only fitting that when the time came his mind went blank. His heart slammed against his ribs like a jackhammer. His palms immediately began to sweat. His throat went dry.

What was he supposed to? What could he possibly do?

“Cas,” Sam finally said, shattering the silence that had developed during Dean’s mental crisis. “We’ve been wondering when you would be back. We were just talking about you this morn-”

“I can imagine,” Castiel replied sourly, cutting him off. His voice was sharp enough to cut glass. The cold anger there was unmissable.

Dean stared at him anxiously. Sam quickly tried to back track.

“That’s not what I-” Sam stopped and smiled sheepishly, unable to finish. He shot a nervous look back at Dean.

“Um, you been okay, Cas?” Dean tried. No response. Castiel didn’t even glance at him.

“Do you have any information about the symbols we found at the crime scenes?” He asked abruptly.

Sam cocked an eyebrow in surprised. Dean shifted from foot to foot.  Castiel stared straight forward as if he was in a trace.

“Oh, yeah. We’ve been looking into them. I haven’t really found anything yet, but there was one that looked familiar. I think it has something to do with-”

“We need figure this out. As soon as possible.” He spoke rapidly. Sam slowly blinked at him, surprised.

“I mean, yeah, we’re doing the best we ca-”  

“Look at this.” Before Sam could finish, he had pulled a rolled up newspaper out of his coat pocket. He quickly smooth it out and held the pages just inches from the hunters face. Sam took a step back as Dean took a step forward, leaning over his brother’s shoulder to read the small print.

A picture of a beautiful woman with black hair adorned the front page. She was smiling. Her eyes were blue. Dean glanced at Cas. His stomach twisted.  

“Another woman died in Lindsborg. She was found behind a dry cleaners she frequented. Her spine was broken, her fingers were missing, and her throat was slit. I checked out the crime scene this morning. The same symbols were present.” The angel said.

Dean stiffened as he spoke. Something within that spill peaked his interest. Immediately, a wave of emotion washed over him.

“You went alone?” Dean asked sharply.

For the first time since his arrival, Castiel glanced over at him, obviously surprised. And Dean was surprised, too. He hadn’t expected his voice to sound so hurt, so rejected. He quickly looked away from the angel, embarrassed.

“I- I took pictures of the symbols if that’s any help,” Castiel finally said after a moment of pause. He reached in his pocket for his phone. Sam took it from his hand, observing the image on the screen.

“Yeah, that’s great, Cas.” He said as he handed it back. “Did you find anything else?”

“No.”

“Well, at least this is a start.”

“Yeah, you saved us a trip.”Dean muttered quietly from behind his brother.

Even though he was still looking at the floor, he could feel those blue eyes focusing on him now. Slowly, he raised his head.

Their eyes met for the briefest moment and Dean had to force himself not to flinch. There was something in that look that brought upon a wave of emotions; most of which, he couldn’t decipher. His body felt like it was on fire.

After a good ten seconds of silent staring, he finally managed to looked away. it was like a spell had been broken.

Without another word, eyes now focused on the floor, Castiel pushed passed them and hastily left the room.

The tension and silence in his wake was smothering.


	3. Chapter 3

They stood there alone in the war room for what seemed like hours. 

Sam watched anxiously as Dean fiddle with the hem of his robe, eyes transfixed on the door that Castiel had exited through. The expression on his face was nearly unreadable. 

Nearly. 

“Dean, are you okay?” Sam asked, taking a step towards his brother. The sudden movement at his side seemed to breath life back into him. Quickly, he took a few steps back and whipped around. There was a hot, sharp pain in his eyes.

“Did you see the look he gave me?” he said roughly. 

Sam gave a sympathetic, humorless smile, “Yeah, it was kind of hard to miss.”

“Sam, he freaking hates me.” 

“I think hate is a strong word.” 

Dean sighed and pushed passed him, drawing a chair out from the map table and sitting down. He put his head in his hands.

“Come on, Dean,” Sam said, trying to be as positive as possible. “This is Cas we’re talking about. He can’t stay mad forever. That’s no reason for you to be so freaked.” 

“Yes, Sam,” he spat back. “There is  a reason!” 

“Well then, enlighten me because I don’t see it.”

Dean let out an angry sigh, but didn’t respond. 

_ This is going to be so much harder than I thought _ , Sam said to himself as he approached the map table and sat down beside his brother. 

It hadn’t been too many days ago that they had sat here together and talked about this the first time. He hoped this wasn’t becoming a habit.

“Look, Dean,” Sam said, placing his hand on his shoulder. “I don’t get it. I really don’t. Cas being gay or bi or whatever the hell he is; It’s not a problem to me.”

“It isn’t for me either!” He sputtered.

“Okay. Got it,” Sam quickly backtracked. “That’s not the issue. Whatever. But I still don’t understand why you got so angry? I don’t understand why you had to dig into him like you did? What’s the problem?”

“Sam,” he said. His voice was splintered and strained, like he’d spent the whole morning chewing glass. “I really don’t know what the problem is. If I figure it out, I’ll sure as hell let you know, but right now…”

He trailed off, words catching in his throat. Sam could feel his whole body shake under his hand. He watch as Dean quickly drew his arm across his face, wiping desperately with the sleeve of his robe. 

_ No _ , Sam thought, shock coursing through him.  _ No, he’s not. He is not about to cry over this.  _

And he wasn’t. 

When he lowered his arm, Dean was back to his usual stone-cold poker face. There was no visual sign of his emotional turmoil. With one swipe of his arm, it had all been pushed down, buried somewhere deep in chest where he could pretend not to feel it. 

Sam knew his brother well. He knew that’s what he always did when things got to complicated and he just didn’t want to think about them. 

However, the problem still remained. This wasn’t something he could ignore until it went away. Castiel was still going to be angry tomorrow and the next day and the next day. He wasn’t just about to forget like Dean was. 

“Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do here and I know you’ve already heard me say it once, but,” Sam tried his best to sound encouraging. “If you guys talk this thing out, I’m sure you’ll feel better.” 

Dean scoffed, “Yeah, let’s just have a little heart to heart. That’s what they do in chick flicks, after all.” 

“Dean, you have no room to laugh at my suggestions. Not when you’re sitting here having a mental crisis in your bathrobe and slippers.” The glare he received for that one was intense. “Listen, you wanted to apologize anyways. Now’s your chance. Go say you’re sorry.” 

Dean rolled his eyes. 

“Obviously, it’s not that easy,” he snapped. “Sam, he doesn’t want to be in the same room as me. Do you think I’ll get a word in if I try to apologize?” 

“You can try.” 

“I can’t,” he said sternly. Before another word could be said, Dean was on his feet. Sam watched as his brother began pacing, robe billowing out behind him. 

It was so strange; seeing Dean like this. Usually, in a situation like this, the last thing he would want to do was apologize. He had always been so stubborn, so bullheaded. Even when it was, in fact, his fault, Dean refused to accept that defeat and say he was wrong. 

He always did. Except for now. Sam was proud, even though he couldn’t wrap his head around it, and he would have been even prouder if his brother followed through on what he said he wanted to do. 

“You know, Cas might come around with a little bit of convince,” Dean said, coming to a stop in front of him. Sam cocked an eyebrow as a small smile began to creep across his face. “All I need is someone to do the convincing.” 

It clicked in his head a moment later. 

“No,” Sam said, jumping to his feet. His chair gave angry squeal as he pushed it back. “Dean, I don’t want to be in the middle of this anymore than I already am. This isn’t my fight.” 

“Come on, Sammy. Take one for the team,” Dean pleaded in his harsh, demanding sort of way. “Help me out.” 

“No. No way in hell,” Sam said again and he meant it. 

_ I’ve been in the middle of this for too long, _ he thought.  _ There’s no freaking way he’s gonna convince me to do this. No freaking-  _

 

* * *

 

Sam found the angel hunkered down in the library, seated in the chair furthest from the door with books and scrolls spread out around him. 

He hardly glanced up as Sam entered the room.

“Hey, Cas,” the hunter said, trying his best to slowly ease into the conversation. He approached the table casually, smiling although he didn’t really feel like it. “What are you looking at?”

Without a word, Castiel raised the book in his hands and turned the cover towards him.  _ The Spiritual Almanac: Sacred Rituals from the Ancient and Lost World  _ it read in gold script. The book looked a hundred years old at the least. 

“A good read,” Sam said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as he gave a stilted chuckle. 

Apparently, Castiel didn’t appreciate the joke. 

“I’m looking into those symbols we found at the crime scenes,” he deadpanned. “I feel that one of them in particular is very important in understanding this case.” 

“Why just one?”

Before he could even blink, Castiel had his phone in his hand, zooming in on the photograph he had taken at the latest crime scene. He held it out to Sam. 

“If you look closely, this symbol is much different from the others,” he said pointedly. “At first I believe it to be of Celtic origins while I recognized  the others to be Incan- which would be very odd- but now I’m not so sure. Still, it just appears out of place.” 

Now that he mentioned it, Castiel had a point. Looking closely, Sam could clearly see the difference. He had to give him props. He’d been looking into the damn things all week and he’d never noticed. 

“You’re back for less than an hour and you’ve already made more progress than me and Dean in a week. Obviously, we haven’t been trying hard enough,” Sam said with a chuckle.

The angel didn’t find it funny.

Castiel stared silently as took his phone back from the hunter. After a moment, he sighed and set it aside. 

“Sam, I’m not lazy,” he said suddenly, voice almost pained as he spoke. “And I want you to know I would never put my own personal wants above my duty.” 

“What?” Sam practically reeled back. “What are you talking about?” 

Castiel took a deep breath and looked away, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “I know Dean is very upset with me and I have no doubt he’s told you many negative things, but I just want to let you know, I tried my best to help him with this case. I didn’t just walk away and- “make eyes” at the bartender, as he said.” 

“Hey, look,” Sam said as he pulled back one of the library chairs and sat down. “I would never think you were lazy or… anything like that.” 

“I just-” Sam watched as he let out a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to form a negative opinion of me based on what your brother said about this one particular incident.” 

“Cas, listen to me.” He leaned forward. “I already formed my opinions on you years ago and, trust me, none of them are negative. I think the world of you. You’re like a brother to me.” 

“That gives me a little relief.” He said. He tried his best to smile. 

Sam sighed. 

“Look, Cas, Dean isn’t angry anymore. In fact,  I don’t think he was ever really angry to begin with. I think he just… has trouble understanding people sometimes and when that happens, he doesn’t know how to deal with it.” Sam tried his best to paint Dean in a sympathetic light. 

_ He’s just a poor, socially inept man who doesn’t know how to process his feelings. You know what that’s like, don’t you?  _

“You need to talk to him.” 

Castiel looked away as soon as the words left Sam’s lips, inhaling sharply. 

“I don’t think I can.” 

“Why not?” 

The angel’s face darkened. His eyes grew cold. “I know what you said about Dean not really being angry, but I’ve found that the things people say in the heat of the moment often hold a hint of truth. What he said in the kitchen made it strikingly clear how he truly feels about me.” 

“Cas-” 

“Sam, I just can’t. Not right now, at least. I- I need some time to think about this.” 

“Well, If you can’t talk to him, can you at least try to be more cooperative? I’m not asking for much. Just a little give. Just…” He tried to think of how to put it. “I just need you to be able to sit in the same room with him. I want to get you both in here at the same time, looking through scrolls and book and articles. You don’t have to communicate. Hell, you can sit on opposite sides of the room if want. I don’t care. We just need to start looking for solutions here.” 

Castiel remained quiet.

“We won’t get anywhere with this case if you two can’t be in the same room together. Look, I know you’re hurt-”

“I’m not hurt,” Castiel suddenly said, cutting Sam off mid sentence. He closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not hurt. As I said before, it’s just complicated.” 

_ That’s bullshit,  _ Sam thought, but he didn’t say it.

“Cas, please,” he said, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “I know that there’s a lot going on between you two right now- and I’m not say that’s not important- but I think you need to look at the bigger picture here. People are dying.” 

“I know that.” He choked out. 

“And we’re the only ones who can help them. We have to work together on this. Can you at least try?” 

There was a long stretch of silence between them. Sam watched intensely as Castiel mulled the idea over in his head. In those few moments, a variety of emotions crossed his face: anger, annoyance, resignation... 

Finally, he sighed.

“I’ll do my best.”  

* * *

 

The only way to keep the peace between Castiel and Dean was to keep them apart. 

Even though they were in the same room, they were sitting on opposite sides and Sam was in the middle acting as mediator. Anything they had to say passed through him first.

Sam watched awkwardly as they worked. Dean kept shooting longing glances across the room and Castiel kept ignoring him. The air in the library was so thick with tension it was almost hard to breath. 

Yet, it was still better than the alternative. At least they were trying. That was all Sam could as for and, in the end, he felt like that’s what lead to their breakthrough. 

“I found something,” Sam finally said an hour after they had began, voice far too loud in the quiet room. 

Immediately, there was the sound of rustling pages and scraping chairs. In that moment, those three words took president over their situation. Both men were in front of him before he even had time to blink. 

“Let me see,” Castiel said, leaning forward and planting his hands flat on the tabletop. Dean nodded in agreement from beside him. 

Sam quickly turned his laptop around to face them. 

On the screen was a short article describing the discovery of ancient markings found in a cave somewhere in Southern Mexico. The report wasn’t very detailed and hardly counted as reliable, but there were photos of the same strange symbols carved into a stone wall and a short excerpt from an interview with one of the men who made the discover.

“So, what does it mean?” Dean asked, squinting.

“Well, according to Dr. Lacy,” Sam said, turning the screen back towards him. “They believe it may be connected to the goddess Xochiquetzal.” 

“Xochiqu- What?” 

“It seems she’s an Aztec goddess; a fertility goddess, to be more exact. One that’s connected to female sexual power, favors and protects young mothers, and is a patroness of pregnancy.” He read directly from the web page. 

He glanced over as he heard Castiel take a sharp intake of breath. It seemed that things clicked for him just as they had clicked for Sam. Their eyes met and he gave a solemn nod. 

“W-wait, I’m don’t understand. What does that mean?” Dean asked again, glancing between them. Confusion riddled his face. 

“It means,” Sam said, tilting the screen back. “Young, lonely women are being killed in the name of a fertility goddess.”

“So?” 

“They’re being sacrificed,” Castiel said, staring down at the floor in thought. “Some sort of fertility ritual. Most likely, in order to win the goddess’ favor and be blessed.” 

Sam swallowed hard and nodded. “It makes sense. Think about it. That girl who worked at the bar- what was her name?” 

“Diana,” Castiel said a little too quickly. 

“Yeah, Diana. Think about Diana. She was almost thirty and unmarried. She didn’t have any kids-”

“She had one,” Castiel interrupted suddenly, voice sure. “A daughter. She was only fifteen at the time and the child was adopted shortly after birth. David confided in me about it. He said it was something many people didn’t know and he didn’t even think of it when we initial questioned him. He said-” 

Suddenly, he went silent. He looked away as if he had said something explicit; something he shouldn’t have said. 

_ David. The bartender.  _

Sam’s gaze slowly shifted towards Dean. 

His brother had gone rigid, arms crossed tensely over his chest as he glanced at the angel. A mixture of surprise and hurt mingled on his face. Sam could see the gears working in his head. He could practically hear his thoughts.

_ He told you that? Your bartender? Why didn’t you tell me? Didn’t you think that might have been relative to the case? Since when have you been hiding things from us? _ Sam imagined him saying, exploding like he did the night with the phone number.

But he didn’t. He didn’t say any of that. 

Instead, Sam watched as he took a breath, lowered his arms, and nodded. It was a look of acceptance. The gears were turning in his head again and- for the first time ever- he made the decision to bite his tongue and say nothing. 

_ That’s an improvement. I’m a little proud.  _

“Okay, well,” Sam said a moment later, clearing his throat. “Think of it this way. We have a woman who, at a very young age, had a child and gave it away. She gave away her chance to be a mother and never had any other kids. Look at that through the eyes of a very angry, very hurt woman who finds out she can’t have children at all. Do see what I’m getting at?”

A long silence passed between them. 

“So, jealousy?” Dean finally said, running at hand through his hair. “That’s the motive. Jealous because she could have kids. Angry because she didn’t want to. So, they sacrificed her to a baby goddess.”

He chuckled and shook his head.

From the corner of his eye, Sam could see that the sound made Castiel flinch.

“A fertility goddess,” Sam corrected politely. “Other than that, you’re right.” 

“So, these bitches are out here slaughtering chicks because they can’t have kids?” He chuckle again. “Ever heard of adoption. I mean, it’s not-”

“Dean,” Castiel suddenly said, turning to face him. “Can you  _ please _ take this seriously?” 

Sam watched as his brother stiffened, taking a step back from the table. He looked as though he had been slapped. Just for a moment, hurt gleamed in his eyes. He opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something and then quickly closed it again. He nodded slowly to himself. 

“Sorry,” he muttered and motioned for Sam to continue.

“O-okay,” Sam managed, relieved as the tension between them slowly dissipated. “Um.. there’s a link for another article talking about Xochiquetzal here. It might help us understand a little more about these rituals.” 

He clicked it and immediately began scrolling, skimming the subsections and looking for anything related towards rituals or celebrations in the goddess’ honor. Origins, mythos, appearance in modern culture: the words passed quickly as he made his way through the article. 

At the bottom of the page, he found what he was looking for. His face visibly darkened as he began to read.  A chill ran down his spine. 

“Listen to this,” he said softly. “Xochiquetzal is one of Aztec deities honored during Toxcatl, an annual festival believed to be celebrated in late May or early June. Prior to the festival, a virgin was chosen to impersonate the goddess. During Toxcatl, this maiden would then be sacrificed, and her skin flayed.” 

Castiel inhaled sharply. Dean’s eyes widening in disgust. 

Sam took a deep breath before continuing. 

“A priest of the goddess would then step forward and dress in the impersonator’s  _ skin _ . Devotees of the goddess would proceed to dance around him confessing their sins, offer their own blood in sacrifice, and perform a ritual bath in hopes that the goddess would then grant them prosperity, fertility, and good fortune.” 

Beneath the article was an illustration of a group of women circling a large fire pit. Emerging from the flames, dressed in a long flowy gown and jewels, was Xochiquetzal. She held out her hands to the nearest woman, smiling wide as a white aura shone from around them.

It was a much happier picture than the text suggested. 

“Shit.” Dean said in a strained voice, nose wrinkled in disgust. “Shit, shit, shit. So, their preparing for this Toxcatl thing? Their gonna try to summon this crazy bitch by peel some poor girl like an apple.” 

Sam nodded, deciding not to comment on that last part. 

“And looks like they’ve already gotten a head start on their offerings,” he added, voice so cold it made them both shiver. “We need to find out who these women are and stop them before this ritual begins.” 

“Yeah, let’s track down these psychos,” Dean said, nodding in agreement. He then glanced over at Cas. “Let’s get justice for Diana and every other girl these freaks have hurt. You with me?” 

Castiel stared at him for a long moment. 

It wasn’t an apology, but it was a peace offering. He could say he was sorry later. Right now, they had work to do. Dean was extending the olive branch. 

And Castiel sighed. With a little hesitation, he reached out and placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

“I’m with you,” he muttered and Sam watched as an enormous amount of relief flooded his brother’s face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one will ever know how much stress and turmoil this chapter has put me through. I've rewritten this thing a total of five times now and I'm still not very satisfied with it. In the end, I had to decide to either post it the way it is or not post it at all. Sorry it's so late. I meant to have this up weeks ago. Hopefully, the next on won't take me half as long. See you guys then and thanks for reading!


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